His Life in the JSDF
by Awesomenes11
Summary: Left with a choice between a life of despair or one of purpose, he choses the ladder, his squad becoming one of the most valuable assets to the country. This is his story.


Enjoy

* * *

_**Raider**_

* * *

Wafts of smoke twirled around the tent, seemingly performing a dance in the air which captivated the dust particles watching on. The dance continued on until the smoke dissipated into nothingness, leaving an acute smell that lingered in the ceiling, floor, and the cloth that people below were wearing.

Laptops littered the few tables that were available, leaving little space for the coffee cups and various papers that battled each other for space, the results of which often had the coffee standing triumphantly atop an avalanche of their opponents.

A few generators could be heard outside of the tent, adding to the sound of the cicadas that occupied the area around the makeshift structure. The generators' power cables connected to a multitude of power sources, breathing life into a handful of electric lamps and a single larger light source hanging precariously from the ceiling of the tent.

Men and women plastered their faces onto their laptop screens, observing the information transmitting to their devices, looking for any abnormalities or opportunities that could appear. There was only ten of them, not counting the one in charge. They had placed themselves in a rather detestable area and although that was what doctrine dictated, it still sowed discomfort.

As operations personnel, it was these soldiers' duty to ensure that the mission at hand went as smoothly as it could, even if the smoothest they could get was a rocky road. They were the eyes and ears of the soldiers executing the mission, and it would be foolish to write them off as desk-jockeys.

In front of these men and women was their Captain, a distinguished and decorated individual whose career was nothing to scoff at, in fact, it was a career one should strive to achieve. Her figure was curved in all the right places, which always drew the eyes of her superiors and subordinates alike, though she did not pay them any heed. Her generous amount of jet black hair was formed into a hasty bun, the messiness of which added to her appeal.

But one could not be fooled by her beauty, for she was a warrior through and through, claiming an unprecedented amount of kills matched only by her superiors. Her muscles were the envy of any female, being firm and hard yet alluring at the same time. She could defeat any opponent in close combat, whether that combat included fists, knives, or firearms.

She trained her eyes on the large monitor before her, which was regularly being updated by her subordinates. The piece of equipment displayed to her the locations of all of her assets, their status, and the enemy they were facing. It was invaluable in the current operation, and she utilized the technology to the fullest extent to ensure that she achieved victory over her opponent.

"Radio."

She spoke in a firm and commanding tone with the smallest hint of softness in her voice. Her radiotelephone operator (RTO) knew the simple one-word command all too well, and he made a calm haste towards his superior with what she desired.

The radio could only be described as a block with a few hard, solid wires preturbing from where the keypad was located. The RTO handed the Captain the hand mic attached to the radio, its swirly cord stretching as the Captain pulled the mic to her ear. Keying the device, she began to speak to her soldiers executing the mission.

"Raptor 1-2, Raptor 1-6. SITREP[1], over."

* * *

The swamp itself was a textbook example of the biome; its murky and opaque water held secrets within that one could only discover with their hands or legs. Trees towered over any living being that happened across the area, their branches swaying ever so slightly with the wind.

The water was still, with the occasional fish calmly traversing the brown abyss that it called home. From time-to-time, a dead branch or leaf would be forsaken by its former master and cast off into the water below, causing a small noise that would ultimately be drowned out by nature.

It seemed as if swamp's typical day would remain undisturbed with all the serenity that was present, if not for the foreign object beginning to rise out of the now rippled water.

In a part of the swamp, a boonie hat slowly ascended from the water, its material was soaked through, making it appear darker than its original state. A pair of orbs was introduced to the swamp next, puzzling the elements even further; these orbs could only be described as eyes and they pierced through their surroundings as if they were cutting through the air with the thinnest of blades.

Those eyes were accompanied by a slightly elongated circular object which sat atop a long piece of metal whose shape the swamp had never seen before. Then, a tall figure rose from the water like the rising sun at dawn, clutching its odd metal object which it used to scan its environment. The figure had colors that the swamp was familiar with: green, black, and brown, yet at the same time the colors were not the same.

But despite the colors, the swamp knew what the figure was: a man, and more came after him.

* * *

"Raptor 1-2, Raptor 1-6. SITREP, over."

The water-resistant radio carried the communication to him, urging him to give a response to his superior. Taking his non-firing hand, his left hand, he keyed the small hand mic that rested on his left shoulder.

"Raptor 1-6, Raptor 1-2. Five mikes[2] out from ORP[3], over."

"Copy, 1-2. Make it fast, we're short on time, over."

"Copy, 1-6. We'll double time[4], over."

"Wilco[5]. 1-6, out."

The man spoke in a low growl, wasting no effort on speaking more words than he needed to.

The man silently walked forward to a bank near the swamp, scanning his surroundings as he made his way there. 1-6 said the recon team reported no enemy movement in this area, but he would take no chances. Still, he hoped to himself that the intel was good and not another mistake from recon due to their impatience at waiting around.

Reaching the bank, the man took a knee with his weapon up, water still rolling off the silencer attached to the muzzle. It was an M4A1 SOPMOD Block II[6], a weapon kit specifically designed for special operations and their operators. There were various attachments on the rifle, allowing the operator to hone their already lethal aim to deliver precision kills on their enemy.

Behind the man came ten more of his fellow operators, ones which he had bonded with when he was selected from the 1st Airborne Brigade to be part of the Special Forces Group. He kept his eyes trained on his twelve[7], and only dared to look at his comrades when he received a tap on the shoulder indicating security was set and that he could disengage.

"Raider, teams are set. 360[8] security covered."

The operator who tapped Raider on the shoulder was one of his Team Leaders, Sergeant (SGT) Speaker. He got his nickname from the spiels he would give his team members before they went out on a mission, and while it wasn't not welcome, one speech was preferable to his normal four or five. SGT Speaker had four operators under him, which meant his Fire Team consisted of five people, to include himself. Count the other Fire Team and Raider himself, and there were eleven people in the entire squad, two more than the basic infantry squad.

"Good. LACE[9] report?"

"All green."

"Great. Get Sergeant Striker over here with his report. I'll contact 1-6 in the meantime."

"Copy that."

SGT Striker was the other Team Leader under Raider. He only recently joined the team, but he was an experienced soldier who was the epitome of professionalism and he had a calm aura about him, both of which Raider could count on in combat.

"1-6, 1-2. Message, over."

"1-2, 1-6. Send it, over."

"Arrived at ORP. Moving to phase four, over."

"Copy, 1-2. Be advised, we managed to snag a destroyer from the U.S. They're standing by to provide fires[10]. Callsign Hydra 1-1, frequency 34000, over."

Raider made a mental note in his mind, burning the callsign and frequency of his fire support into his membrane should the need arise to use them. He also made a note to remind the crew on the destroyer to utilize their gun instead of cruise missiles, the last thing he needed was a danger close situation with a cruise missile.

"Great news, 1-6. Let's hope we won't need them. Interrogative, are the sat[11] images still up, over."

"Affirmative, 1-2. We've only got them for the next fifteen minutes. Make that recon fast, over."

"Copy, 1-6. We'll get it done, over."

"I know you will. 1-6, out."

Sometime during his transmission to his superior, SGT Striker appeared beside Raider. Striker mirrored the tactical knee that Raider took, his figure slightly taller than the man.

Stiker was a six foot soldier weighing in at over two hundred pounds of pure, lean muscle. One could say that he was the ideal physique of a soldier and no one would disagree, in fact, before he was assigned to the Special Forces Group, he was the posterboy for the 1st Airborne. However, the humble sergeant never allowed that to cloud his mind and he was regarded as epitome of soldiery.

Perhaps he believed that would allow him somewhat of respect within the Special Forces Group upon his arrival two months ago, but that belief was critically false. In the SFG, one had to earn respect through the various missions that they undertook, regardless of how proficient that person was at his previous unit. That being said, Striker did not disappoint whatsoever, and Raider was continually impressed by his performance.

"Sergeant, yellow on water, but other than that, we're green."

"Good. I'm about to do the GPS recon, should only take about ten minutes."

"Rog. I'll get back to my team."

"Ah, wait. I need you to do something."

Raider pulled out a ziploc bag, its contents being a map and a protractor[12]. Despite the tight seal the bag had, some water had managed to seep through the crack which the paper map had no choice but to absorb.

"Here. We've got a U.S. destroyer on call for fire support, I need you to mark priority targets around the objective. Don't put it dead on, we're not initiating with that firepower."

Handing Striker the map, Raider pulled out his waterproof GPS system, a small block tablet that was green in color and as thick as the width of a ruler. There were a handful of keys situated around the screen, with the most prominent one being the classic power button that booted up the GPS.

Pressing the power button gave Raider a view of the sat images being transmitted to his tablet, giving him a bird's eye view of the objective and his squad's location. His eyes automatically focused in on his objective, a medium-sized house in a dryer area of the swamp.

"Support-by-fire position."

The support-by-fire (SBF) position was crucial to the success of the attack. This would be tasked to SGT Striker's Fire Team, their job being to lay as much fire on the enemy position as they could. Raider noticed a rather convenient hill resting on the side of the house, around sixty to seventy meters away, a perfect position for Striker's team. The hill would allow the team to face the side of the building and a portion of the front, giving them somewhat of full coverage.

The building itself was a two story house that had no water running through its surroundings. It appeared that the house was made in between trees and vegetation in an attempt to conceal them from satellite imagery. The fact that Raider was currently planning an attack on the building without having to personally go there was evidence that his enemy's attempt at concealment had failed.

"Assault position."

The assault team was, as it sounds, the team that would assault through the objective, in this case a building. Raider would personally lead SGT Speaker's Fire Team into the complex and locate their objective. Being that the house was made, or at least had been attempted, in the woodline gave his assault team cover and concealment up until the back entrance of the house. The assault team would set up just before that wall to prevent getting shot by the support team.

"Alright."

With his squad's positions found, Raider signaled for his Team Leaders to fall in on him.

"Sergeant, I've marked the priority targets on the map and the GPS. They're placed on a dirt road leading into the compound and a trail through the woods. I know you said don't put one on the objective, but I did just in case things get ugly."

"Good call, Striker. We might need to destroy that house anyways."

"Rog."

Striker's aptitude for using the word "Rog" impressed Raider, perhaps he found someone just as lazy as he was in speech.

"Alright, here's the deal. I've marked the support and assault team positions on the GPS, as well as the release point[13]. Striker, there's no fucking water there, so silently move your team to this hill and set up. The package is in the second story, so do not shoot through there, just the lower level."

"Rog."

"Speaker, they built the house in a damn woodline, so we can move up to a point just before the back entrance. That's where we will set up."

"Copy."

"Striker, our initiation will be the M249[14]. Wait for the radio. Alternate will be flare on the objective."

"A flare? Copy."

"Remember, that's alternate. Speaker, once there's a minute of fire, I'll radio Striker to cease fire and we'll move to secure the package and mop up what's left, copy?"

"Wilco."

"Striker, I don't need to tell you this but I will. Make sure you kill everything on the lower floor and then some. Maintain your rates and talk those guns[15]."

"My pleasure, sergeant."

"Alright, brief your team and get back here once you're done. We move out in five."

"Copy."

"Roger."

"1-6, 1-2. Come in, over."

"1-2, I read, over."

"1-2 is moving to assault objective. ETA[16] on release point is twenty mikes, actions on in thirty mikes, over."

"Copy all. Be advised, the Mexican government is getting impatient. Get in and get out, over."

"Roger, 1-6, over."

There was a pause on the end of the transmission. Perhaps 1-6 was receiving some mission critical intel; Raider hoped that was not the case.

"Come back alive, 1-2. 1-6, out."

* * *

"Raider, Striker is in position."

"Likewise, Striker. Hold for my signal."

"Roger."

Releasing the key of his hand mic, Raider observed the building that was his objective. From what he could see, there was around six men in the lower level of the house, with around four or five of them upstairs. The package was somewhere on the second floor, but the recon team could not get close enough to tell which room it was located in.

The estimate of how many enemies that were on the upper level was just that: an estimate. Raider only caught the slightest glimpses of one or two of them in the window. He guessed it was either four or five due to the intel he received from 1-6: the enemy force was operating in a ten to twelve man element, with a QRF[17] force of around twenty to twenty-five about ten mikes out. The situation would get extremely bad if they were to lag here, that QRF force was no joke to his squad that consisted of only eleven men, even if they were Special Forces.

"Speaker, we're about to go live. Get your team ready."

Speaking in a hushed tone, Raider alerted his Team Leader that actions on were about to take place.

"Got it."

Keying his hand mic, Raider reported to 1-6 that they were about to engage the enemy.

"1-6, 1-2. We're engaging in two, over."

"1-2, 1-6. Solid copy. Remember, the package is to be pulled out at all costs. 1-6, out."

Raider keyed his mic again, this time contacting Striker some sixty meters to his left.

"Striker, remember, only the lower level, copy?"

"Good copy Raider. We're trained on."

"Roger. Engage."

"Engaging."

* * *

The relative quiet of the swamp could be heard around, with frogs quaking, trees swaying, and the occasional snap of a dead branch. The men inside the house were enjoying the peace, sipping on tea and watching a football[18] game; it was Germany versus Algeria. They were watching the game in the lower level of the house, which had a medium sized living room and a small kitchen with a tiny room for a washer and dryer. The living room had a table in the center, with a couple of chairs facing the television. Just in front of the table was a couch, which the majority of the men were using to watch the game.

A player from Germany scooted the ball across the field, having received it from one of his teammates. He was closing in on the Algerians' goal, with his opponents desperately trying to prevent him from scoring a goal, but it was in vain. The scorecard ticked, indicating that Germany had won the game, the crowd screaming in euphoria as a result.

As if on cue with the screams, a scream of a different kind roared through the lower level of the house, destroying the television the men were watching their game on.

A maelstrom of bullets ripped through the wooden walls of the house, flinging splinters big and small across the room. Ricochets could be heard as the calibers hit the metal of the stove and refrigerator, causing the bullets to throw themselves into the floors and nearby walls.

A handful of bullets tore through one of the legs of the table, causing it to bellow over on one side, spilling the plates and food that sat atop of it across the floor. The couch that the men were sitting on was wrenched through, bullets causing the feathers inside the cushions to flare up into the air. They glided slowly to the floor, a stark difference from the chaos that was happening inside the room.

One of the men that was sitting at the table had his skull penetrated by a projectile, pieces of his bone and brain rocketed into the air, followed by strands of vividly red blood. More bullets pierced his body, travelling at velocity that tore through his vital organs, bursting them inside of his body.

Some men were standing up, and as a consequence, brass found their way into every corner of their bodies. Projectiles screeched through their knees, heads, and mouths. Their blood ejected from their bodies, performing an exquisite dance in the air almost as if was choreographed, before falling less gingerly on the floor.

Those that were sitting on the couch suffered the most gruelling deaths. Their front was faced directly towards where the fire was coming from, bullets ripping into arteries, brains, hearts and every other part of the human anatomy. Their blood sullied the rather clean couch, the cloth absorbing every millimeter of the liquid, turning the piece of furniture into a mesh of blue and red.

All it took was a minute; a minute of firepower. No life remained on the lower floor, only pieces of human skin and bone coated in a dark red. The lifeless bodies spewed out their contents into the floor, mostly blood; it flowed like a river across the ground, seeping through the cracks in the wood foundation and staining the material red.

* * *

"Striker, cease fire."

Although actions on the objective had started, Raider remained calm and spoke in a normal voice. It wouldn't make a difference if he were to yell through the radio, it was right next to his Team Leader's ear. It would, in fact, most likely impair SGT Striker's ability to comprehend his battle space and what was occurring inside of it. Therefore, Raider was steadfast in his calm demeanor.

"Copy, ceasing fire."

Striker was equally calm, having been able to do so through the experience he had.

"Speaker, up. You and one on the front, other two with me on the back. I'll frag in."

"Dagger, with me. Loco and Guinness on sergeant."

Nods were the only motion given, because they were the only motion needed.

The operators moved with a trained and silent swiftness, almost as if they were gliding towards their positions rather than walking. The men stacked[19] on their respective entrances, their weapons trained on the door in front of them. Raider made a hand signal towards Guinness, and the private readied a hand grenade to throw in the door.

Guinness was a younger man, who, as the name suggests, had a certain appetite for drinking Guinness only. He would bring one wherever he went and often attempted to put the beer into his canteens and camelback. Speaker made sure he always double checked the man to make sure that he was actually carrying water and not the alcohol. Despite his drinking habit, he was a stellar soldier that exemplified an operator, if his shooting qualification and PT score had anything to say about it.

Raider cracked the door open and Guinness tossed the explosive into the room. Closing the door and backing away, the men awaited the explosion that followed. It was a deafening sound and the operators could hear the shrapnel lodging itself into every corner of the room, and apparently some men as well.

A horrific screech could be heard from inside the building, most likely the men on the upper floor checking if their compatriots down below were alive at all. That was good news, but, there was only one scream, which meant that more still remained.

Nodding to Raider, Guinness kicked the door in, and allowed his superior to go before him. It was always a point that Raider made: he would go in first. Immediately upon entering, Raider could see that the staircase to go to the upper level was diagonal from him, and that a man was coming down with his AK-47 hanging loosely towards the ground. The man stared into the night vision goggles that Raider was wearing, fear taking hold of him. He made an attempt to aim at the sergeant, but the operator did not give him the chance, putting a bullet through one of his eyes. The man jerked back, his head hitting the wall. His body slowly slid to the ground,

leaving a streak of blood on the wall as it lowered.

Raider noticed to his left that Speaker and Dagger had entered the room, clearing it before training their weapons onto the staircase. Behind Raider entered Guinness and Loco, each moving to cover a door that the team entered in.

Raider made a hand signal to form a file and move up the staircase, to which the team responded to immediately. Raider had to execute extreme caution moving up the stairs, as he was at a disadvantage to any enemy that could be watching him from above.

Slowly but swiftly, he made his way up the stairs, taking it one step at a time while training his rifle towards the top. In any other scenario, he would simply toss a grenade up there, but the package he was retrieving was absolutely vital to command, at least that's what he was told by 1-6.

Raider's heartbeat raced, and although he was not afraid, he did not want to get shot by the likes of some second-rate terrorists. As he made his way up the final flight of stairs, a man appeared out of the nearest bedroom, firing off a burst towards Raider. The bullets flew through the air and grazed the operator's helmet, causing a few sparks to flare up into the air before the bullets hit wall behind him.

"Fucker!"

Raider returned a burst of his own through the wall of the bedroom where he believed the man was, and unfortunately for the enemy, Raider knew how to shoot. A body made a thud on the ground, the upper half of which appeared in the hallway. Raider signaled for two of his men to clear the room while the rest set security in the hall, thus beginning the room clearing phase of the operation.

The operators were searching for the package as well as any remaining enemies, using extreme caution whilst searching the rooms. As the soldiers moved to the final room, a scream could be heard from inside. The scream was plainly female, and Raider thought to himself as to why there would be a female here. Perhaps these lowlives took a local village girl and decided to have their way with her.

Raider and Speaker rushed into the room, rifles trained for any enemies. There was, in fact, an enemy, and he was holding a woman close to his chest whilst placing a handgun to her head.

Raider noted that she had a bag over her head. Maybe they did that as a courtesy to her so she didn't have to look them in the eyes as they raped her.

"Don't move! Or I will shoot!"

The man spoke in a Spanish accent, which was not the least bit surprising. These men were drug cartels after all and they were in Mexico.

"Fuck, Raider. He's got a hostage."

"I see that, Speaker."

"Put the guns down Americans! I swear I will kill her!"

"This prick thinks we're Americans."

"I've been called worse things, Speaker. I'll take that as a compliment actually."

Raider's impatience was growing. He had to kill this man and secure the package, and he was told at any means necessary, but he'd rather not have the blood of a civilian on his hands. Not more than there was already.

"There's only one way to handle this, Raider. Do it."

Raider agreed, there was no other way to go about the situation. Squeezing the trigger, the bullet from his M4 exited through the suppressor that was attached to the barrel, the cartridge ejecting through the dust cover. The bullet seemed to travel in slow motion and he swore that he could see projectile skimming the air as it made its way to its target.

The bullet went through the woman's shoulder, and exited into the man's. Both made a squeal as they were hit.

"Speaker, the girl!"

"Got it!"

Speaker rushed to the girl and pulled her away from the enemy, just as Raider pulled the man up onto his knees.

Pulling out his sidearm, Raider pressed the suppressed barrel of his M17[20] into the man's neck, a shot that would kill him slowly.

"You know what we're here for. Where is it?"

The man laughed before commenting.

"Fuck you."

Raider adjusted the barrel of his weapon towards the man's leg, aiming away from the artery.

"Wrong answer."

He squeezed the trigger, sending a 9mm[21] bullet into the man's leg, causing the enemy to cry out in agony. Taking his foot, Raider pressed his combat boot into the wound, making sure to twirl around his foot to add to the pain.

"Ah! Stop!"

"Then answer me. Where?"

"How can you not know what you're looking for, huh? Did you government not tell you?"

Raider added to the pressure he was already sustaining on the man's wound.

"Ah...fuck! The girl! It's the girl!"

"What? What the fuck do you mean it's the girl?"

"We...were supposed to use her for ransom. Some big guy in Japan's niece or something...oh so that's what it is. You're Japanese, huh? Your woman are great. They have really tight-"

Before the man could end his vulgar statement, Raider took the magazine well of his handgun and smashed the man's temple with it.

"God! Fuck!"

Pushing his NODS[22] up, Raider holstered his handgun and removed his combat knife from the sheathe on his plate carrier[23]. Grabbing the man's hair, he raised up the man's head and bent down to the enemy's eye level.

No words needed to be exchanged, no, it would be more accurate to say that Raider did not wish to. He would not waste his breath on the degenerate that was kneeling before him, who was completely at his mercy. Instead, Raider glared into the man's eyes, seemingly piercing his soul with an invisible dagger.

What was not so invisible, was the combat knife Raider had in his hand. He slowly moved the knife to the man's adam's apple, ceasing his movement just as the tip of the weapon was pressed firmly into the bone. A few moments of silence passed between the two men, their eyes meeting each other.

Then, as if he was piercing a block of gel, Raider calmly creeped his blade into the man, maintaining eye contact the entire time so he could witness the life seep out of this scum.

The man attempted to make noise, but little was heard as the knife began to glide through his vocal cords, its tip slowly ripping them apart. Struggling for air, he threw his hands upon Raider and offered up a struggle that would be in vain.

Blood oozed out of the entry point of the mortal wound, sliding down the man's neck and onto his clothes. Some of it sprayed onto Raider's masked face, but the operator paid no heed and continued slipping the metal object through his enemy's neck.

The kill took only a few moments and as the man's life began to truly fade away, he offered one more defiant glare to Raider, who responded in kind. After that, the man's arms lifelessly slumped to his side and his eyes rolled into the back of his head, establishing the kill.

Jerking his knife out of his kill's neck, Raider wiped the blade on his uniform and sheathed it, grasping his M4 as he did. Now that the enemy had been taken care of, he had to figure out what the hell was going on and confirm if this girl was really what he was looking for.

"1-6, 1-2. Message, over!"

"1-2, 1-6. Send it, over."

"1-2 has secured the objective, but I need confirmation on what the package actually is, over"

"1-2, the package is a woman, how copy, over."

"Bad copy, 1-6! You couldn't have informed me earlier that we were transporting a fucking person? Over!"

"1-2, the package is extremely vital to the government. For security purposes we had to keep this tight. But we can discuss this later, drone footage puts the enemy QRF on top of you in five. You need to withdraw, over."

Raider was fuming, to the point that he was just about to snatch the radio off of his back and put a round in the cursed thing. But he was going to risk his squad's lives because he was frustrated. 1-6 was right, they needed to withdraw.

"1-2 copies all. We're oscar mike to exfil, over."

"Move fast, 1-2. They're closing. 1-6, out."

"Speaker, get the girl. We've got five minutes, we're leaving. Now."

"Roger. Let's move team."

"Striker, Raider. We're moving to next phase. Get back to the rally point so we can exfil."

"We'll cover your withdraw and then move."

"Negative. Move now!"

Sensing the urgency in his Squad Leader's voice, Striker decided to go against his gut and follow his orders. If the sergeant was changing the plan, it had to because the enemy QRF was moments away.

"Roger, we're pulling out. Meet you in ten."

"Solid copy. Speaker, we're taking the back entrance."

Raider and the men with him hastily made their way out of the building, stepping over dead bodies with swift, fluid motions. As they exited the house, he could hear the engines of vehicles in the distance, estimating that there were at least two technicals closing in. Under the cover of night, it would be harder for them to see the withdrawing operators, which they fully used to their advantage.

"Speaker, you're bleeding!"

If Raider had the ears of a cat, they would most certainly have perked up at the exclamation. The voice came from Dagger and the operator stopped dead in tracks; his movement, or lack thereof, would give the enemy enough time to fire off shots. The team could either keep running and attempt to avoid the enemy fire, or they could get down and fire first. Raider had to make a decision.

Without so much as a second passing, a distinct whistle could be heard from above, and Raider knew the sound all too well, as did the other operators. They had little time to react to what was going to come and rather than succumb to indecision, with one swift movement Raider took the girl from Speaker and threw her over his shoulders.

"Fucking move!"

Not taking a chance on Dagger, Guinness pushed the man forward, which caused the operator to snap out of his instincts and rush forward with his comrades. The rally point was about four-hundred meters away, and the operators stampeded the swamp to get there, pushing through branches, running through water and other forms of nature that were present in the swamp.

And in a split moment, as water soaked the operators' uniforms and their heavy breaths echoed through the air, the whistle heard above delivered an explosion that rocked the area.

Then, a succession of other explosions were distributed on the area the operators had just assaulted. They caused the earth to tremble and the successive shockwaves from the artillery permeated throughout the swamp, causing weak, smaller trees to collapse to the ground. The sound was deafening and could be heard from miles away, waking up people in a nearby village.

The shockwaves that were sent towards Raider caused him to stumble, and he barely held his ground as he sprinted towards the rally point in the distance. He cursed Striker for calling in the payload but thanked him at the same time. Were it not for his Team Leader's quick thinking, the enemy that outnumbered his team most certainly would have inflicted casualties.

Putting the explosions and the damage they dealt to the OPFOR[24] out of his mind, Raider and the men with him arrived at the rally point where Striker and his team awaited them. How they got there before he did was anybody's guess. He wanted to give Striker a few words, but he knew all too well that exfilling took top priority in current clusterfuck that they were in.

"Striker, take...the girl."

While he took pride in his physical performance, Raider had just half sprinted half ran four-hundred meters to their current position. Suffice to say, he did not want to continue carrying their package. He managed to make his request in between short breaths.

"A girl?"

As the Team Leader took the female from his sergeant's care, he inquired as to why she was there in the first place.

"She's...the package."

"Fuck."

"Yeah...is your team here?"

"We're up."

"Sergeant Raider, Sergeant Speaker won't let me treat him!"

Dagger was taking his qualms to Raider, who knew that the youngest man in the squad was only trying to help. Dagger was a determined individual, perhaps the most determined out of all the squad, but at the age of twenty he was young and idealistic. Treating a wound right now did not take the priority in the mission, even if Raider wanted to do nothing more than treat his Team Leader.

"Speaker, can you handle?"

"I can."

"Then we're moving. Squad column, hurry it up."

"But-"

"Dagger, shut up. If you want to do another mission again, do what I say."

Raider did not want to threaten the young man with that, but he had to get him under control and move his men to the exfil point, especially since they were now carrying a civilian.

"Yes, sergeant…"

Dejected, Dagger formed up with his team; Raider would make sure to give him a talk later.

"Let's move."

As the squad began moving at a medium pace, just in between a fast walk and a light jog, Raider keyed his radio.

"1-6, 1-2. Come in, over."

"1-2, 1-6. Go ahead, over."

"1-2 has hit rally point bravo and we are moving towards primary exfil, over."

"Copy, 1-2. Boats are waiting for you on the bank one click[25] from your position, callsign Hatchet 2-3. Patching you in, 1-6 out."

A moment went by before a voice came over Raider's radio.

"Raptor 1-2, this is Hatchet 2-3, do you read, over?"

"Hatchet 2-3, Raptor 1-2. Affirmative, over."

"Be advised, we're a click out from your position, but we have reports of enemy movement closing in on the bank. Estimated ETA on those tangos is twenty mikes so you have more than enough time, but don't keep us waiting, over."

"Copy, Hatchet 2-3. Raptor 1-2 is moving, out."

* * *

With the pace that we were going, there was no need to tell my squad to move faster. We would be gone long before the enemy even had a chance to catch a glimpse of us. But, there was one thing that was in the back of my mind, gnawing at me with every step that I took.

They were a lot of missions that I had done that I wished I hadn't, so much death and destruction that I wish I hadn't seen. I had seen friends that I had bonded with over the years die in a land that was not their own, and I killed many who would never be able to go back to their families. Those thoughts were always imbued in my mind, the memories of those times always burned into my conscious.

But as I look behind me at my Team Leader Striker and the woman that he is carrying on his back, I can't help but feel that I wish I had not been on this mission.

In that moment, I wish that I had not seen that face, that hair, that body.

In that moment I wish I had not secured Yukinoshita Yukino.

In that moment I wish I had not been Hikigaya Hachiman.

In that moment I was grateful that I was wearing a mask.

As we boarded the boats to exfil and as Dagger finally was able to get his wish and treat Speaker, I wondered to myself if that woman was playing tricks on me. That she purposefully assigned me this mission to remind me of my past or some other nonsense, I wouldn't put it past her.

Still, as this beaten and bruised Yukinoshita Yukino is lying before me, I can not help but brush my gloved fingers over her skin, and look at her as the moonlight hits her face. Even in this state her beauty still presents itself and I simply take it in.

This will most likely be the last time I'll ever get to look at her again, hell, I wasn't supposed to see her you again at all, yet here you are before me.

"Sergeant, you should report to 1-6."

I hear the voice of my alpha Team Leader Speaker. It takes a few moments before I am able to register his words.

"I'm sure she already knows, but I'll take your advice."

He simply nods to me, not wanting to disturb me further, knowing the history between me and the woman before me. No, he knows the history between us three.

"1-6, 1-2. Message, over."

"1-2, 1-6. Go ahead, over."

"1-2 has linked up with exfil team. We are currently RTB[26], over."

"Good copy, over. See me immediately when you get back to the ship, over."

"Wilco, 1-6. 1-2, out."

Rather than look down at the woman beside me, I shifted my gaze towards my M4 which was lying on my lap, the barrel facing towards the swamp. Moving my hand, I run my fingers along the cold metal of the weapon, all of the memories of death I had inflicted with it surging through my mind. Here, in front of me, I had two sections of my life before my eyes: the woman representing what I had been before and the rifle representing what I had become, a life that I could not leave.

I almost laughed at the irony.

* * *

**Japanese Ground Self Defense Force Records Archive**

Activating…

Please Enter Identification Code.

**A556D998**

Processing…

Identification Code Recognized.

Please Enter Request for Records.

**Request Records for ID **8888888888**.**

Processing…

Record Request Initiated for ID 8888888888…

…

…

Request Accepted. Displaying Records for ID 8888888888.

Name: Hikigaya, Hachiman

Current Callsign: Raptor 1-2

Grade: OR-5

Rank: Staff Sergeant

DOB: Redacted

ID Number: 8888888888

Record Address: Redacted

Nickname: Raider

Branch of Service: GSDF

Status of Service: Active

Unit of Service: Special Forces Group

Operational History:

_Operation Raging Tiger - Commendation Received_

_Operation Serpentine - Commendation Received_

_Operation Firefly - Commendations Received (x3)_

_Redacted - Disciplinary Action Received_

_Redacted - Commendations Received (x2)_

_Redacted - Commendation Received_

_Redacted - Medal of Valor_

Family: / Father - Deceased / Mother - Alive / Sister - Redacted /

Classifications:

_R - Ranger_

_AA - Air Assault Qualified_

_AB - Airborne Qualified_

_OP - Operator Qualified_

_SF - Special Forces_

_SN - Sniper Qualified_

Please Enter Request for Records.

**Request Records for ID 6686277433**

Processing…

Record Request Initiated for ID 6686277433…

…

…

Request Accepted. Displaying Records for ID 6686277433.

Name: Unavailable

Current Callsign: Raptor 1-6

Grade: OF-2

Rank: Captain

DOB: Error. Not found

ID Number: 6686277433

Record Address: Redacted

Nickname: Redacted

Branch of Service: GSDF

Status of Service: Active

Unit of Service: Special Forces Group

Operational History:

_Redacted_

Family - /Redacted/

Classifications:

_R - Ranger_

_AA - Air Assault Qualified_

_AB - Airborne Qualified_

_AM - Armor Qualified_

_AY - Artillery Qualified_

_FPN - Fixed Plane Qualified_

_HL - Helicopter Qualified_

_OP - Operative Qualified_

_SF - Special Forces_

_SN - Sniper Qualified_

* * *

[1] Situational Report.

[2] Mikes - Miles.

[3] Objective Rally Point. Different from a usual rally point in that this RP is used before actions on the objective.

[4] Double Time - Running.

[5] Wilco - Affirmative/Copy/etc.

[6] Described in text.

[7] Twelve - Twelve O'clock. Straight ahead.

[8] 360 security is all around security.

[9] Liquid Ammunition Casualty Equipment Report.

[10] Fires - Fire Support. Artillery.

[11] Satellite.

[12] Protractor utilized for land navigation.

[13] Release point - A point where teams move to their positions.

[14] M249 - M249 Squad Automatic Weapon. Each Fire Team is given one.

[15] Talking guns - Controlling rates of fire so each individual fires on que so to not waste ammunition.

[16] ETA - Estimated Time of Arrival

[17] Quick Reaction Force - A force scrambled to react to a situation, most likely an enemy attack.

[18] Football/Soccer.

[19] Stacking on doors - Where a team stacks on a door in order to prepare for breaching.

[20] M17 - The M17 Modular Handgun System.

[21] 9mm - A type of ammunition commonly used in handguns.

[22] NODS- Night vision goggles.

[23] Plate Carrier - A type of vest that carries a an armored plate.

[24] OPFOR - Opposition Forces.

[25] Click - A kilometer.

[26] RTB - Return to Base.


End file.
